


A new kind of victory

by xipeek



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: Eve's POV, F/F, Post 3.08, because it was way too frustrating and we'll have to wait a billion years before s04, might be continued, takes up right after the end of the episode
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-25
Updated: 2020-06-25
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:53:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24909502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xipeek/pseuds/xipeek
Summary: Both Eve and Villanelle turned around, but what happens right after that ?
Relationships: Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova
Comments: 4
Kudos: 39





	A new kind of victory

Every step feels like your body is fighting against gravity, you’re in a storm that’s bigger than the elements, because it’s all happening inside of you. Your feet are heavy because the further you walk away from her, the more intense the pain becomes. Gravity isn’t at the center of the Earth anymore; it’s not under the sole of your shoes, it’s right behind you. The center of _your_ world is pulling at your back with every step she takes in the opposite direction. It’s like a string of fate has been wrapped around your whole body and is tugging at it relentlessly. And it’s getting tighter around your chest, making is harder for you to breathe. But mostly, it’s ripping through every last inch of resolve you had left until you can’t do anything but yield, or suffocate. So, after what seems like a decade in that world of yours but is only seconds in reality, you turn around.

The storm is still inside you and flooded your eyes, blurrying your vision; but she’s there, like a light house hovering above the surface of the sea. She has stopped as well, facing you. A ghost of a smile leaves its shadow on her strong lips and though you can’t see it, there’s a shy expression of relief on her features. 

You suddenly can’t stand to be so far away from her, so you just follow along as your feet finally give in to that string pulling you towards her. When she sees you in motion, Villanelle starts walking as well and soon you’re facing each other again, speechless; almost breathless too.

She’s awkward with you and that’s a new color on her, a cute albeit disturbing one you must say. Villanelle is nothing if not confident but you can see that all of this is unexplored territory for her as well. She’s learning how to lean into you instead of crushing you right away. And for someone who has been trained to crush the vast majority of people she’s had to deal with, it’ll take some time. 

You’re standing in front of her and before you can think about what you’re doing, your hand goes up to her face, fingertips grazing her cheeks before aiming for her hair. She catches your wrist right before you can touch the loose strands of blond hair that fell free from her bun. She’s not holding too tight, but you can sense the wariness in her eyes so you keep looking at her, hoping it’ll help reasurre her. Neither of you know how to do this so your body fell into a familiar pattern buried in your subconscious before you could help it. Her warm fingers still wraped around your wrist, you slowly stretch your hand until it’s finally stroking her soft hair. It’s smooth and you immediately want to bury your fingers in it, but you don’t. Instead, you grab her hairtie and delicately loosen the bun until her long hair is cascading on her shoulders.

“You should wear it down”.

Villanelle lets go of your wrist and opens her mouth, her snarky comment right at the edge of her lips. You’re expecting some mockery like the one she threw at you when you told her you only saw her face when thinking about the future. 

It was the most intimate words you’d told her. 

Of course she wouldn’t take them upfront. She’s an assassin, but even international serial killers have their weaknesses. You just couldn’t quite believe yet that you were hers. So she made a joke about her beautiful face, but the moment hadn’t passed and anyway you’d never have denied it. The tension was still there, words heavy with meaning and hands clasped in front of you because you were both afraid that if you let them go, they’d run free and tangle and intertwine on their own accord. 

Villanelle doesn’t joke this time around.

You step closer to her because you don’t want the awkwardness to settle, you can’t let it; not this time because this time, you need more than that. It’s like the dance earlier all over again, all yearning bodies and tensions but not enough physical contact. Deciding you’ll take the lead, your hand reaches for hers and you let yourself learn a few new steps. It’s new to the both of you, but it doesn’t have to be awkward. You’ve known for a while now, and so has she. The rehearsals finally have to end so that the real dance can begin.  
There’s no music and the only soundtrack of this new exploration are the speeding cars crossing the bridge right beside you, hardly romantic; but you’ve already proven your idea of romantic defies the wildest imagination.

She’s as ready as you are, because the minute your hand tugs at her to bring her closer, she falls right into your arms, leaving your litteraly breathless. The moment you inhale, your chest deploys under your coat and makes the slightest contact with her own, sending shivers down your spine. Before you can react, her arms come to rest around your waist to pull you flush against her tall body and her head lean against your own, her beautiful sunny hair tangling with your dark curls. 

“Smell me, Eve” she whispers.

Again, the conversation brings you back but this time you’re not as reluctant to comply. You only need to tilt your head down a little bit to find yourself nuzzled in the nook of her neck. You take a breath, close your eyes and suddenly you’re back on the bus again. 

Everything around you is different from that particular encounter. The bridge is loud, it’s dark outside, you’re alone and not surrounded by a handful of very confused commuters. But one clear, familiar feeling burst into your heart and you have to fight with every fiber of your body not to let it win. Keeping your eyes closed and biting your tongue, you think about her lips and that smug smile of hers that made you want to fucking slap her so many times. You think about the impossible urge to taste her, the one you yielded to on the bus.

The mere thought of pressing your lips against hers brings a flush to your cheeks, but it’s nothing Villanelle will ever see. Instead of giving in to that growing desire, you raise your head slightly until your lips are touching her neck; and you leave a faint kiss on her smooth skin, head already spinning with a scent you’re sure you’ll never forget. 

Deafening as it is, the roar of the speeding cars is long gone now and when you step back and look into her eyes, you know she doesn’t hear anything else either. You’re just looking at each other, scarcely moving and each second that passes helps you release the tension you’ve felt the whole day.

You’re finally learning how to relax around each other and it’s as unusual as it is pleasant.

Villenelle smiles faintly when she finds her footing with you, the same way she did when you were dancing. It’s not much, but to an international assassin who’s had to fight and win most of her life, it’s a new kind of victory.  
Swaying to an imaginary song, you both close your eyes again and find the world you took refuge in a few hours ago on the dancefloor, surrounded by other dreamers.


End file.
